


Amaranthine

by Emerald



Category: Moonlight (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald/pseuds/Emerald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poker Night. Josef makes what he thinks is a joke bet, asking Mick to sleep with him if Mick loses the next round. Mick agrees, and then admits he needs help to sort out his feelings when Josef initially resists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amaranthine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the small fandom fest on LiveJournal

I still remember the first time I laid eyes on Mick St John. It was the summer of 1952. Mick was still human then, one of Coraline’s latest playthings. Ready to be used, and discarded as she saw fit. Or so I thought at the time.

Mick was the epitome of awkward cool. Peppering his speech with hip phrases such as, ‘Hey Daddy-O’, and ‘Later Alligator’. Hair slicked back a little too neat for rock n roll, and shirts too loud for the squares who ranted and railed against that ‘Devil’s Music’ Mick was so fond of. Credit where credit’s due, he certainly played a mean guitar. There was something mesmerising about him when he was on stage, and I made it a point to accompany Coraline to his gigs whenever I could.

Mick quickly grew on me. He does that you know. One moment you’re gritting your teeth, and barely tolerating his presence. The next he’s your best friend.

Our first official meeting certainly gave no indication of the bond that would develop between us in years to come. A stemmed glass of wine dangled between my index and middle finger, I made an off the cuff remark about the number of Toucans that must have perished in the making of a particular garish Hawaiian shirt Mick was attired in for the evening.

Mick didn’t appear to take too kindly to my particular brand of humour. Cynicism, served with a hefty side order of sarcasm. He kept his distance for the rest of the night. Hovering near the bar on the far side of the room, and knocking back one too many Vodka Martini’s.

Every so often though I caught him trying to catch a glimpse of me out the corner of his eye. Despite our somewhat shaky start, Mick appeared to be as fascinated with me, as I was with him. Even if I did find out later he had seen fit to pass judgment. Declaring me to be a ‘pompous jerk’.

Mick’s not so well hidden attraction to me was understandable. After all I am what most people consider a good catch. I have more money than Rupert Murdoch and Rockefeller combined. I’m handsome, witty, charming when I want to be. Able to converse intellectually on a wide variety of subjects, and perfectly modest too I might add. And yes I am laughing as I write that last line. Josef Kostan claiming to be modest? That sounds like the perfect punch line for a stand up comedy routine. Oh, did I mention I’m also immortal?

My own attraction to Mick was a little harder to understand. I am what mortal society might term ‘versatile’ in my choice of partners. And Mick certainly wasn’t my usual type. Then again, perhaps I never really knew what my type was, until Mick entered my life.

I found myself increasingly drawn to the enigma that was Mick St John. Maybe it was because Mick reminded me of myself when I was younger, before the aforementioned cynicism set in, before I began to clothe myself in the deflective armour of sarcasm. Before four hundred years of hiding in the shadows, and fleeing from torch bearing mobs taught me that for all its perks, immortality exacted a hefty price. Yes, even I will admit that immortality is not without it’s drawbacks, although I would never express that sentiment out loud. I am Vampire hear me roar.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly a friendship was forged. Mutual respect the cornerstone of its foundation. We came to understand one another. We were two halves of the same whole, Yin and Yang, light and dark, balancing each other out. Yes, yes, I know that whole passage sounds like something Mick would say. Stuff like that rubs off on you when you happen to be friends with Mr Deep and Meaningful eighty years running.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly I fell in love. “Josef Kostan in love?” Mick would say years later. “That’s proof that anything’s possible.”

If only he knew.

Years have passed since then. Coraline is long gone. Undone by her impatience and impetuous nature. I told her she should have waited. Spoken to her family first. Sought their permission. Mick simply wasn’t cut out to be a Vampire. That was a lie of course. It was Coraline, I thought, who wasn’t cut out to be Mick’s sire. Naturally she didn’t listen to a word I had to say. Coraline never did. Coraline Duvall listened to no one. In the end it proved to be her downfall. It’s true what they say, sometimes immortality tricks you into believing you truly are immortal.

Mick eventually remarried, a pretty young blonde reporter by the name of Beth Turner. Long story short, Mick rescued Beth when Coraline saw fit to kidnap her at the tender age of four. In what one can only assume was a last ditch, desperate effort to salvage the ruined wasteland of her marriage to Mick. Mick kept watch over Beth from that night on. In essence he became her Guardian Angel. Making sure she was safe, protected. Remaining just out of sight, but always close by, until that one fateful night when their paths finally crossed. And the rest, as they say, is history.

That Mick loved Beth was never in doubt. The way he looked at her, the way he held, and caressed her. I was happy for him, even if my heart felt like it was continuously breaking. My feelings for Mick had not diminished with the passing of time. I threw myself into several disastrous relationships. Hoping in vain for a distraction, something to ease the pain of longing.

Beth has been dead these past 5 years. Cancer. One of the many disadvantages of mortality, eventually you have to shuffle off the mortal coil whether you like it or not. Give me eternity, and a vein full of blood any day. Torch bearing mobs, and all.

Mick is joining me for a game of cards this evening. It has become something of a Saturday night tradition for us. We’ll drink a few rounds of Scotch, play a few hands of Poker, and let the conversation, and liquor flow.

“Mick, it’s your turn.” Mick is seated across from me at the oak table in my den now. His gaze fixed on the cards he holds in his hand. “Mick?”

“Yeah alright, keep your fangs in.” Mick pretends to huff indignantly, and rolls his eyes. “I’ll take three.”

I deal the cards to him, and study the expression on his face as he picks them up one by one. I’m trying to see if he’s bluffing. It’s difficult to tell with Mick. He hides his subtle emotional cues well.

Mick makes a display of adjusting the cards in his hand, arranging, and rearranging the order until he appears satisfied with the hand he has been dealt.

“I’m in, for a hundred.” Mick says, placing the money in the middle of the table.

“I call, and raise you two.” I reply, offering Mick an arched brow grin as I add my own cash to the pile.

“I’ll see your two hundred, and raise you another five.” Mick tosses more notes into the center of the table, and sits back looking as if victory is already a foregone conclusion.

I pretend to study the cards in my own hand now. Furrowing my brow as if I’m weighing up my options.

“I’m all in.” I announce finally.

Mick hesitates. He’s not sure if I’m bluffing, or I whether really do have a winning hand. Eventually he folds.

“That’s me done.” Mick throws his cards on the table, as I scoop up the pile of money, and cockily thank him for his kind donation.

“You’re welcome,” he replies with overtones of exaggerated politeness. “Always happy to lighten my wallet for a good cause.”

And then Mick picks up the deck in front of him, and begins to shuffle the cards. Preparing to deal the next hand. “I’m all cashed out,” he says, “how about we do things a little differently this round.”

“Oh yeah, what did you have in mind?” I lean back in my chair. Fingers tented in front of my face.

“Best of three, whoever loses has to do whatever the winner asks.” The line of Mick’s mouth is drawn into an unabashed grin, “My car needs detailing, and my apartment could do with a fresh coat of paint.

“Alright, you’re on.” I nod my acceptance, and then throw down a gauntlet of my own. “If you lose, you spend the night. With me.”

Maybe it’s the buzz of the alcohol in my veins making me reckless. Or perhaps I’m just trying to evoke a response. Nevertheless I have no intention of actually holding Mick to his end of the bargain should he happen to lose the bet.

“Deal.” Mick’s reply is quick off the mark. For a moment I am taken aback. He’s calling my bluff. He has to be.  
Mick wins the first round easily. Beating my Full House with a Straight Flush. The next round goes to me, two pair, Kings high, against Mick’s pair of sevens. And then we’re down to the wire.

“Read ‘em, and weep.” I throw down my hand triumphant, revealing four Aces. I take a moment to bask in the glory of my win, and then I’m standing up, and clearing the table. “We should probably call it a night.”

“Don’t you want to collect on your bet?” Mick is shifting towards me then.

“Mick,” Raising my hands in a gesture of placation, I smile, and shake my head, “come on, you know I was only having a joke with you.”

“And you know I never welsh on a bet.”

“Yeah, you’re a real man of honour, St John. I believe you still owe me a night on the town for a bet you lost two years ago.” I laugh, trying to lighten the tension in the room. Tension that’s mostly coming from me.

“You should have reminded me, I probably forgot.” Mick shrugs. And then he’s standing right in front of me, drawing his arms around my waist. He rests his forehead against mine. I can hear his breath synchronise with mine. Neither one of us needs to breathe, but sometimes we do anyway. Force of habit I guess.

“Mick,” I gently rebuke his advances, and take a step back, “Come on. I’ve known you for close to eighty years. Judy Garland retrospectives, and show tunes aren’t really your style.”

“And they’re not yours either.” Mick folds his arms across his chest, “Did you ever stop and think that I might need to do this?”

“What, are you that hard up?” I offer Mick another arched brow grin. He rolls his eyes in response.

“No, but…”

“But what, Mick?” I’m openly challenging him now. Pacing in circles around him as he tracks my form. “You’ve never shown the slightest bit of interest in having sex with another man. And now you’re telling me not only do you want to sleep with me, you need to. Excuse me while I chortle in your general direction.”

Almost eighty years. Eighty years I’ve longed for this moment, Mick offering himself to me, willingly. And now that it’s actually here I can’t do it. I can’t take advantage of him like this. He means too much to me. Mick deserves better than a quick roll in the hay that he’ll probably end up regretting. Besides, I want more from Mick than that. I always have. Remember that love thing I spoke about before.

Mick’s expression falls serious then. He asks me to come into the living room, where we can sit and talk. I reluctantly agree.

We sit together on my imported Italian leather lounge. Handcrafted and Hand stitched. Details like that are important you know. Especially considering the price I paid for it.

I maintain a platonic distance, and wait for Mick to speak. He looks as if he’s struggling to find the words to express himself. Not something I ever have trouble with. Well, not usually.

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” Mick starts of slow, choosing his words carefully, “but it’s more than that, and you know it. This past year has felt…different. Like something’s changed between us. Or maybe it’s always been there, and I’ve just never noticed until now. The point is, I’m confused as hell, and I don’t know how else to sort these feelings out.”

Guess this is one of those, ‘Well, not usually’ moments. I’m rendered temporarily speechless.

“And you think sleeping with me is going to help with that?”

“Yes, no, maybe…I don’t know.” Mick scrubs a frustrated hand over his face.

“Mick, look at me.” I wait for Mick’s gaze to meet mine. It’s time for me to make my own confession now. “I have been in love with you for more years than I care to admit. You’re my amaranthine. I might be many things, but don’t take me for a fool. I won’t risk…”

Mick doesn’t give me a chance to finish. He presses his lips against mine, and kisses me on impulse. And that’s when I realize, against my better judgment I am going to go through with this.

“Come with me.” I break away from the kiss, and then stand, extending my hand toward Mick.

I lead him into the bedroom. Mick lies back, and watches me as I undress. He begins to do the same.

“Don’t, let me.” I finish undressing, and join Mick on the bed. I straddle his hips. My hands go to the buttons on his shirt, finishing what he started, and then move to the belt buckle on his jeans.

I take my time, resisting the urge to just tear the clothes from his body. I’ve waited for this for so long. I plan to savour every moment.

Mick’s hands are gripping my waist, and then moving down to stroke my thighs. And then he stops. He’s looking up at me. Expectant.

“Did you mean what you said before?” He asks. “About being in love with me?”

I roll my eyes, and then smirk. “No, Mick. I just had the sudden urge to tell my best friend of eighty years that I’m in love with him for the hell of it. Shits and giggles, and all that.”

I silence any further stupidity with a kiss. Bending forward to press my lips against Mick’s own. We’re both naked now. I can feel his erection lined up next to mine. I begin to map the contours of his body with my fingers, and he shivers under my touch.

I wonder if he’s as nervous as I am. Judging by the way his throat keeps bobbing up and down as he swallows repeatedly, I’d say the answer is, yes.

And then I’m tracing a downward trajectory, my lips, and tongue following the path of my hands. Mick’s breathing falls ragged. I can feel his chest vibrating as he begins to purr. I’ve never heard a Vampire purr before. It’s music to my ears.

Mick gasps when my lips, and tongue reach their target. I take his cock into my mouth, working my lips along his shaft, swirling my tongue over the head. Pausing every now and then to flick at the sensitive underside. Using my hand to provide extra stimulation.

Mick reaches down and grabs my head. Offering direction, and guidance. I let him. Ordinarily I wouldn’t. ‘Let go, I know what I’m doing’ tends to be my motto.

“Shit,” Mick groans his approval, and thrusts into my mouth, “you’re good.”

Was there ever any doubt? Of course I’m good. I’ve had over four hundred years to hone my skills.

Mick starts babbling about Beth then, comparing my skills to hers. Telling me how good she was. Just like me.

“Mick,” I raise my head, and offer him a disarming smile, “you, talking about your dead wife is kind of a mood killer.”

“Sorry.” Mick’s expression falls sheepish then. He’s clearly embarrassed.

I brush aside that embarrassment and shift back up along his body. “Your turn,” I press my lips to Mick’s ear, and whisper to him.

Within moments it’s abundantly clear that Mick has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. I try not to insult him by laughing. He had looked so confident and eager beforehand.

“Mick, stop,” I tap the side of his face, “come back up.”

He obeys my instruction. He looks frustrated, annoyed. “I thought it’d be easier than that.”

“Mick,” I stifle a laugh, “It’s your first time. What did you expect, that you were going to be deep throating like a porn star?”

“No, but…”

“I’ll guide you.”

He slides back down, nervously, his previous confidence gone. I begin to instruct him, talking him through what to do, telling him what I like. He’s doing better this time. I reach down and stroke the top of his head. I realise I’m about to come.

“Oh fuck.” I give Mick a quick warning. And then I’m arching my back, and he’s letting me come in his mouth. I’m surprised. I hadn’t expected that. It heightens my pleasure.

He looks up at me, grinning when it’s over. He’s pleased with himself. I resist the urge to offer a sarcastic round of applause.

“Ok, now what?” He asks then.

“Lie on your back again.” I wait for him to do as he’s told, and then head back down towards his crotch. I urge him to draw his knees up, bypassing his cock this time, and pressing my tongue against his hole instead.

He tenses, and tries to shift away. Apparently he’s never been rimmed before. I hold firm, and tell him to relax. He hesitates for a moment, and then lets me continue.

Soon I’ve got him panting, and moaning, writhing under my attentions. I pause to wet a finger with saliva, and begin tracing the perimeter of his opening. Stretching him. Allowing my tongue to penetrate deeper.

He gasps at the sensation. I stop what I’m doing and shift back up along his body once again.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I have to ask. I need to be sure.

“Yes.” Mick replies. He sounds nervous.

‘Don’t worry.” I reassure him, “We’ll take it slow. I know what I’m doing.”

I retrieve a tube of lubricant from the drawer of the bedside cabinet, spreading some of the contents over my fingers. And then I’m pressing a digit into Mick’s passage, and adding a second. Trying to relax, and loosen him up as much as I can.

I curl my fingers inside him, using a beckoning motion to stimulate his prostate. Judging by how loud he moans, and the expletives he’s muttering under his breath, I’d say he’s enjoying it. He reaches a hand down, and begins to stroke his cock.

“Feel good?” I grin, and raise my eyebrows at him.

He nods an enthusiastic agreement. “Fuck yeah.”

I remove my fingers then, and reach for the lube. Mick watches as I slick my erection with a generous amount of the substance. I can see him trembling with nerves, and anticipation.

I push Mick’s legs back against his chest. I want to just ram my cock into his ass so badly. I don’t. After all I did promise him we’d take it slow.

Mick grimaces, and draws in a sharp intake of breath as I start to penetrate him. I stop, and check that he’s ok.

“Yeah, it just hurts a bit. Go easy.”

“It helps if you breathe out, and try and bear down.” Mick follows my direction, and I’m able to press forward more. Pushing past the initial resistance, until my cock is inside him to the hilt. I pause for a moment, allowing Mick time to adjust to the sensation of being filled. And then I slowly withdraw, and thrust back into him. Gradually building a steady rhythm.

Mick draws his arms around my shoulders, and clings to my back. The noises he’s making are driving me wild. I revel in the sensation of closeness. I can feel Mick’s cock pressing rigid against my stomach as I fuck him. We’re both sweating hard now. Mick’s fingers are digging into my flesh, urging me on. He’s close, I can tell. So am I. I step up the pace. We’re kissing now, moaning into each other’s mouths, devouring one another.

And then - _Oh shit, Oh fuck yes, I’m gonna_ \- semen is shooting onto Mick’s chest and abdomen. He bites into the top of my shoulder as he comes, and I feel him tighten around me. It pulls me over the edge with him. I sink my own fangs into Mick’s throat, growling as I ride out the waves of orgasm crashing over me. I can’t remember the last time I came this hard.

I withdraw carefully when I’m sure we’re both spent, and roll my weight off Mick’s body to lie on my back next to him. Mick shifts into my arms. He drapes a leg across my thighs, and rests his head in the crook of my shoulder. We lay together in silent repletion, and then Mick speaks.

“That word you used before, Amaranthine, what does it mean?”

“Eternally beautiful, and unfading. Everlasting.” I reply.

Mick seems to consider this for a moment, and then he smiles. “I like that.”

I kiss the top of his head as he drifts into sleep.

 _So do I._


End file.
